What I'm Thankful for
by Disciple of Ember
Summary: Mary had always loved the holidays, but Thanksgiving held a special place in her heart. This year, she had a few things that needed to be said.


**Happy Thanksgiving everyone! This is just a holiday story I wrote up when I thought about what Thanksgiving might mean to someone like Mary. I hope you like it.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ib or any of the characters**

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Thanksgiving had always held a special meaning to Mary.

It was a time to reflect and be grateful for what you had. When Ib had first described it to her, she knew that it was going to be one of her favorite holidays.

There was so much that she was thankful for! She had a family now. She had a sister who also happened to be her best friend. She had everything she had ever dreamed of and more. How could she possibly condense all of that into a few sentences at the dinner table?

However, there was one thing in particular that she needed to say. She had tried to ignore it for so long, pretending that it wasn't important.

In reality, it was one of the single most important things in her life.

"Mary? Are you all right?"

The sound of Ib's voice brought the blonde girl back to reality. She had been a silent passenger as her sister drove to their destination. This was something that Mary had been both anticipating and dreading for a very long time now.

"Yea, I'll be fine." She assured. "I can't turn away now. I've put it off too long as is."

Ib remained silent, watching her with concern. She knew better than anyone just how conflicted Mary was about all of this.

"I can come inside with you if you want." She offered. "You don't have to do this alone."

Mary would have loved to accept that offer. Having Ib by her side always made even the worst situations seem much less intimidating. But today she couldn't. Hiding behind her sister would be a disservice to the meaning of her visit.

"I think it would be best if I did." She told the brunette. "This is something I have to face. It's because of me that it happened in the first place…"

Ib's hand made its way to her shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. "You know that isn't true." She said. "You didn't choose for the gallery to be created. It's not your fault."

Sometimes she wished that Ib would just be angry like a normal person would. Yelling and harsh words hurt at first, but the quiet acceptance made her feel all twisted up inside.

"I'll be fine." Mary said. "It shouldn't take too long, wait for me here ok?"

At Ib's nod, she opened the car door and stepped out into the parking lot. This was one place that she had never wanted to return to, but she needed to all the same. Inside the pale walls of the Geurtena art exhibit was a man she hadn't seen for many years.

A man she owed everything to.

Mary paused for a second to steady herself. Her nerves were working against her as they yelled at her to turn back to the safety of the car. _You shouldn't be here!_ They said. _You should be back at home with your family. Not dwelling in the past._

She ignored their protests, and strode purposefully towards the entrance. Ib made this journey every weekend, surely she could do it just once.

As the doors opened, she was struck by a wave of nostalgia. It was just as she remembered. The open reception area, the white hallways, even the sign in sheets looked the same as they had been all those years ago.

An old woman sat behind the desk reading a rather large book. She didn't seem to notice as Mary approached. For several moments, the girl stood awkwardly waiting for the woman to look up and see that someone was waiting. When it became clear that she wasn't going to do that anytime soon, Mary cleared her throat.

The woman jerked her head up suddenly at the noise, blinking several times in confusion.

"Oh! I'm sorry dear, I didn't see you there." She said when she noticed the visitor. "Are you here to see the exhibit?"

Mary simply nodded, not trusting herself to speak right now.

"I'll just need you to sign in here." The woman said, handing her one of the sign in sheets. "We need to keep a record of who comes and goes into the gallery. It's just for security reasons."

She took the sheet and neatly scrawled her signature into one of the open spaces. It always felt a bit strange to write in Ib's last name instead of Geurtena, but she had grown used to it after a while.

When Mary was finished, the old woman took the sheet back. "Everything looks good, go right on ahead. Enjoy the gallery; young people should certainly try to appreciate such fine works of art."

Giving a smile in thanks, she made her way past the reception desk and into the halls of the exhibit.

All manner of paintings adorned the walls, displaying the vast collection of Geurtena's works. Mary knew each and every one of them intimately, and could recite their names and locations by heart.

Today however, she walked past them. Her destination was further in.

It didn't take long to find the one she was looking for, but when she arrived her eyes remained rooted on the floor. Standing here now, she began to wonder if this was a bad idea. He probably wouldn't be able to hear her anyway, and even if he did she doubted he would want to speak with the one who put him here.

Mary focused on her breathing in an attempt to calm down. The steady rhythm of drawing air in and pushing it out again had served to help protect against her fears so many times in the past. When at last her turmoil quieted down, she lifted her gaze to the portrait in front of her.

It was one that seemed somewhat out of place in the exhibit. Nobody could find any record of Geurtena painting it, yet it was hung up none the less. It depicted a man with purple hair, holding a blue rose. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be sleeping, drawn down by an irresistible fatigue.

"Hello Garry." She greeted quietly.

When Mary was young, this picture had represented all her darkest fears. He was the demon lurking under her bed, the boogeyman waiting to take her away. He was the one who tried to steal Ib from her and leave her trapped in the living nightmare.

At least, that's what she had thought.

Years later, Ib still visited his painting regularly. This had perplexed Mary to no end until she had tried seeing it from their perspective. The more she thought about it, the less monstrous Garry seemed. More and more she began to see the big, ugly, truth about the events of the gallery.

_He_ had been trying to protect Ib from _her_.

Both of them had tried to keep the red eyed girl from the other in their own ways. Both had put their own lives in danger, some more obviously than others.

"It's Thanksgiving out here…" Mary began. She wasn't sure what she needed to say, but she knew she had to say something. "Everyone says it's a time to be thankful for what you have. I've been thinking for these past few years and…"

Her voice caught in her throat. Just looking at his image caused a sea of serpents to writhe in her gut, while she tried to think of a fitting way to express her feelings.

"I can't say I'm sorry… I mean, I'm sorry it had to be you but…"

This was far more difficult than she had anticipated. Mary felt tears sting the back of her eyes as she went on.

"I'm not sorry I did it. That's what I'm trying to say. Maybe that makes me a bad person, but… I _can't_ be sorry about that. If there was another way… If I could have done something differently… I…"

She didn't know what she had expected. Garry's image sat impassively in its frame as she struggled to force out her confession.

"I don't know if you hate me or not, but I wanted to say that I wish it could have gone differently. I wish we all could have made it out somehow. You don't deserve this but… I couldn't stay locked away. It was too much to stand."

Mary shuddered slightly as she came to the final part of her message.

"The reason I'm here… I wanted to… To tell you…"

Her voice was silenced as the invisible hand of doubt clamped down on her throat. She suddenly understood how foolish this whole attempt had been. Garry wouldn't want to hear this from her. The whole thing seemed like an insult rather than an attempt at making peace.

Mary's eyes dropped back down to the floor as she shook with silent tears. _I should just go back._ She thought. _Just go home. This isn't helping anything._

She was so caught up in her own fears that she didn't notice the other presence until they took her hand.

Mary started in surprise, but quickly saw who it was.

"Ib…" She hadn't listened. Instead of staying behind in the car she had chosen to follow Mary into the gallery.

"It's all right." She said. "You can do this. Just take it one step at a time."

She shouldn't feel relieved, but she was. She shouldn't be grateful that Ib was there to hide behind, but she was. Maybe she just wasn't strong enough to do this on her own. Even so, it had to be done.

Mary took a deep breath before turning back to face the painting.

"I know you didn't want this." She said. The words tasted like broken glass, but she pushed on regardless. "I know I didn't ask, but… I needed to say…"

"Thank you."

"Without you I never would have been able to see the real world. I need you to understand that I _do_ care. I just hope that someday… Maybe… I can make it up to you somehow. I don't know if you can hear me, but if you can… Thank you. For everything."

Mary gulped down air in a strange combination of a sob and a sigh. Giving her hand a comforting squeeze, Ib hugged her gently.

"You see." She said softly. "You _can_ do it. You just need to give him a bit of time. Now let's go, we still have to stop by the store before we go home."

With that, Ib turned to the painting. "So long Garry. I might be a bit late this weekend, but I'll be sure to tell you all about what we've been doing. Take care."

Mary watched her go silently. She would follow soon, but she needed a moment. More out of sorrowful curiosity than anything, she turned to look at the portrait one last time.

What she saw took her breath away.

Garry's eyes were open, looking directly at her. His face held a small sad smile, but there didn't appear to be any accusation in his gaze. Just as quickly as it appeared, the image was gone. Garry was once again the Hanged Man in the picture.

Mary blinked in shock several times. Had she just imagined it? Was that actually Garry trying to communicate, or was it just her eyes playing tricks on her?

After several more moments, she turned away. Mary set off after her sister with the smallest embers of hope glowing in her heart.

Behind her, the painted man watched in silence. He couldn't speak, but he thought that they got the message. It was nice that she had decided to finally come and talk with him.

Settling back into his portrait, Garry returned to sleep until the next time he had a visitor.


End file.
